


Chase

by crystalsnowflakes



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Breaking Up & Making Up, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Idiots in Love, Implied Sexual Content, Makeup Sex, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29243577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystalsnowflakes/pseuds/crystalsnowflakes
Summary: She pulled his face down to hers before brushing her mouth against his cheeks and he felt her lips curl into her usual, impish grin.  “Isn’t the chase half the fun?”
Relationships: Yuffie Kisaragi/Reno
Comments: 37
Kudos: 17





	Chase

The only thing that could be heard within the four walls of the office was the sound of the clock ticking—the repetitive and persistent noise annoyed him beyond reason. It didn’t help that he had been on edge since the day had started.

With a harsh grunt, Reno checked his phone for the umpteenth time that day. The lack of notifications irritated him more than he cared to admit—no texts, no calls, no emails, no voicemails. It had been two full weeks since he had seen hide or hair of her and while his fingers itched to dial her number or send a casual text her way, he was too prideful to make the first move.

He had been hopeful to catch the little shit at the bar, except she seemed to have disappeared from the face of the planet. And whenever he made a passing comment about the brat to fish for information from the barmaid, Tifa would only shrug with a glint of concern in her eyes—it did nothing to still his growing worries.

Except he wasn't worried.

But _seriously,_ where the fuck was she?

It had been the longest he had gone without her illicit touches and hungry kisses in half-lit back alleys and darkened locker rooms—the longest they had gone without hours spent in the privacy of his bedroom.

Try as he might, he could not focus on the mission file he had been handed. Half an hour had gone by and he had barely read a full page. With a frustrated grunt, he tossed the file to the only empty spot amongst the clutter on his desk. Rude, sitting just across him, looked up in interest, one of his eyebrows raising above his pair of sunglasses.

Just as he was about to complain about having to read the assignment, a sudden outburst of chortle from Elena caused him to turn his head towards her. Curiously, he studied the photo of the colourful chocobos she was holding in her hand as she read the flip side—the corners of her lips were drawn back in a giddy smile as her eyes moved rapidly over the words, her head shaking in mirth. With another small laughter, she opened the drawer at her desk and placed the photo inside.

Letting out a groan of annoyance, he leaned backward to stretch the kinks from his back—he knew he wouldn’t get anywhere with the dossier today. He’d try again tomorrow. With another forceful sigh, he stood up and glanced over at his partner, motioning at him with his head.

Rude, most likely more than eager to see the barmaid, had stood up to join him instantly.

He would find a small degree of comfort at the bottom of a whiskey glass and perhaps he’d be lucky enough to catch a glimpse of the boisterous and obnoxiously loud minx who had somehow caught his eye—he didn’t even know _why_ he cared that she wasn’t around.

Honestly, he couldn’t even remember what they were arguing about this time around. All he could recall was the way she was glaring at him with her eyes moist, teeth gritted and face flushed. She had been standing on the ledge of the balcony, _screeching_ at the top of her lungs with her arms waving wildly and all he could remember was how mesmerising she was. That, and whether he would be getting complaints from the neighbours the next day. 

At one point during her tantrum, he had been questioning his life choices of inviting that _brat_ into his life, but one look at her legs and his doubts had melted away. It had been tempting to drag her off the balcony and cut off her theatrics by pressing her against the wall and wrapping her legs around him.

But then she had called him an asshole with uncharacteristic calmness and before he had a chance to scrutinize her face, she had vaulted off all sixteen floors of the building. 

She hadn’t said goodbye. He hadn’t bothered chasing.

Crazy bitch.

For all he knew, she could have very well been yelling at him about his excessive drinking habit, his inability to smoke less than a pack a day, his ineptitude at returning texts within an acceptable time or any of the _other_ issues she had brought up in the time they’ve been together.

His steps stuttered briefly, his echoing footsteps halting for a split second before continuing—he realized at that very moment that he hadn’t been with anyone else for over a year.

It was too much to hope that his partner didn’t notice his momentary pause. “Something on your mind?”

Reno waved at him dismissively with an exaggerated quirk of his lips. “Nothin’ a little alcohol can’t fix.”

When they finally arrived at the bar, Reno settled himself at their usual table in the corner. His eyes couldn’t help but focus on the way Tifa gazed lovingly at Rude. And while he felt happy for his partner because Rude has had shit luck with women since he had known him, the open affection between them was nauseating.

A faint _grossness_ could be heard in his head. Waving with a grimace to the new hired barmaid because he was definitely hearing _her_ voice in his head now, he ordered their usual order and kept his eyes on his phone. He would never admit to even himself that he was once again hoping for a text or call— _anything,_ at this point.

It was not until he was halfway through his second glass of whiskey that he noticed the photo pinned to the corkboard behind the cash register. It had never been there before and it reminded him of the picture that Elena had been holding onto just an hour ago in the Shinra Headquarters. Except it was a picture of a fireworks display instead of chocobos.

Just as he was about to stand up to look closely at the photo, the new barmaid brought him and Rude their warm dinner. Distracted, he turned his attention to her instead—it was easier to fall back into old habits and flirt with her than to think about what, or rather, who he was missing.

It wasn’t until hours later that Reno stumbled back to his apartment with the help of Rude. He’d drank more than he had in a while and while he had initially planned to head straight up to his apartment to pass out in bed, dirty clothes and all, the sudden temptation to check his mailbox overrode his senses.

Blurry eyed and dizzy, he pulled out the stash of mail from his overflowing mailbox and sifted through it on the spot, dropping any catalogues, advertisements, brochures he deemed useless to the ground. Halfway through the stack, a bright picture of a moogle stood out from the rest of the monochromatic mail.

He let out a long breath as realization struck—it was a postcard. 

His fingers shook slightly as he felt his heart thumping vigorously against his chest. There was only one person in the world at that moment who would have mailed a postcard to Elena, Tifa _and_ him—it could only have been Yuffie. Curious and not wanting to wait for a second longer, he shoved the rest of his untouched mail back into the mailbox and locked it up before flipping the postcard around.

A huff of laughter escaped his lips before he could hold it back—he wasn’t sure if he should have been disappointed or glad, only to recognize he felt _both._

He was important enough to _her_ to have received _something._ But not important enough to have anything written on the back. Instead, a rough doodle of a piece of shit—complete with flies—filled almost the entirety of the backside. Except for his address in what he recognized was Yuffie’s messy handwriting, nothing else was written.

No ‘Reno’, no ‘Turkey’, no ‘Asshole’.

His chest tightened at the thought that he somehow plagued her mind as much as she tormented his—rather than think about it any longer, he pushed whatever feelings he had experienced away.

He was too drunk to deal with this shit anyway.

* * *

Ever since that first postcard in the mail, Reno had made sure to keep a careful track of the mail deliveries at the Shinra Headquarter.

Whenever Elena received one at work, it was almost certain that he would have one in the mailbox waiting for him when he arrived home. The first postcard had been one from the Gold Saucer, but the consequent ones had been from North Corel, Rocket Town and Nibelheim—it seemed like she was travelling the world by herself this time.

Nobody knew where she was at any given time, not until the postcards arrived—not even her employer knew where she was exactly. Yuffie had apparently told Reeve that she was taking a short vacation and had disappeared the next day.

It was on the third postcard, the one from Rocket Town, that Reno finally caught a glimpse of the back of Elena’s postcard—it was filled with words and a small indecipherable picture in the corner. His had continued to be filled with doodles with no greetings and only a messy scrawl of his address. He took small comfort in the fact that he was still receiving them.

And it was on that same postcard that Reno realized that she had been doodling hints of her next destination—he wasn’t sure if she had been doing it deliberately or subconsciously because more often than not, the scribbles didn’t make any sense.

Except on the back of the Rocket Town postcard was a sketch of a vampire coffin.

Reno had only been mildly surprised when the next postcard had come from Nibelheim.

There were times she sent multiple postcards from the same place. The amount of postcards he had received the last few months had gotten so out of hand that he finally bought a box to house them in. It was clear she hadn’t planned her destination too much in advance because it almost looked like she was lost, wandering the planet to find something.

In the dead of the night when it was impossible for him to fall asleep, he would flip through them mindlessly, studying the quick drawings on the backside. It was only in the stillness that he would admit to himself that he missed her loud and obnoxious presence and the way she dug her toes under his legs whenever they fell asleep together.

He hadn’t talked to her in months and while his fingers itched to just send her a quick message or dial her number, his pride would not allow it.

* * *

In the late hours after his evening shifts as he sat contemplating his life choices with nothing but a glass of whiskey as his only companion, the familiar sound of the bar phone rang shrilly. His eyes continued to study the way the amber liquid swirled—the colour reminded him uncomfortably of the way her hazel eyes glowed lighter in the brightness of the early morning sun. He could recall the way her cheeks would flush, the way her dark lashes fanned against her porcelain skin, the way she looked at _him._

“Oh, Yuffie! It’s been a while! How’s it going?”

His head turned around so quickly it almost gave him a whiplash, but the shock of hearing Tifa utter her name caused him to follow the barmaid with his eyes hungrily as his ear tuned into their conversation—he was eager for any hints of her whereabouts.

The last postcard had been sent from Kalm—she had drawn a chocobo stuffie sitting in a wheelchair. None of the scribbles she had done had given him enough clues as to where she would be going next. 

“You have Marlene’s birthday present in Kalm? I’ll have Cloud pick up next time he’s in town. Where are you heading next?” Tifa’s soft voice somehow carried through the racket of the bar.

She was still there. She was so close and he knew it would have taken less than an hour to fly over to Kalm in his helicopter. The problem was he wasn’t sure if she tended to stay where she sent the postcard from, or whether she tended to leave. Plus, why would _he_ have to be the one to chase her?

It had been her choice to run away.

The urge to snatch the phone away from Tifa’s hand crossed his mind a few times, as much as he hated to admit it. What he didn’t know was _why._ Not only was his pride stopping him from making such a terrible decision, but the thought of Tifa roundhouse kicking his ass in a bar full of patrons wasn’t pleasant. Rude would also probably never let him live it down.

Reno’s eyes narrowed at the way Tifa looked around, eyes flickering towards the crowd before she turned away and walked towards the kitchen. Curious, he followed suit, making sure to act as naturally as possible.

“Are you planning to come home anytime soon?” The sound of TIfa’s hushed voice came to his ear as he leaned against the door frame outside of the kitchen doors. “What are you running from?”

Was this because of _him?_

...Why the hell did it matter anyway? Why did he care?

She was such a fucking coward.

* * *

Throughout the months she had gone missing, he was unable to toss out the ever growing pile of postcards that was slowly filling up the box he had initially bought to house them in. 

It wasn’t for the lack of trying, though. He had placed the box into a garbage bag multiple times, confident in his own ability to toss the damn thing out only to bring it out of the bag and place it back on the kitchen counter time after time. 

It was so fucking frustrating.

Despite that, he had almost convinced himself that he didn’t care that she was no longer in his life. And it would have worked if not for the fact that he had offered to bring a file to Reeve’s office in the WRO.

A large cork board filled with postcards took up the wall space above the couch in the Commissioner’s office—he couldn’t even remember what used to hang up on the wall. Apparently Reno had been too fascinated with the cork board because Reeve had walked up next to him to stare at the garishly colourful postcards, a vivid contrast to the dullness of his office. 

“It was just there one day,” Reeve explained with a small smile, a look of fond exasperation on his face. “Yuffie really hated that photo of Edge. She said it was too boring.”

Reno’s chest tightened as he realized that Yuffie had been _here_ in this room since she had disappeared on him—on them. She had been just _literally minutes_ from where he worked, where he lived.

“So now she’s replaced it with dozens of _boring_ pictures of different cities?” Reno asked, careful to keep his voice casual and levelled. He had to admit that the burst of colours from the photographs brought liveliness to the otherwise drab office space.

A small chuckle escaped Reeve’s mouth. “Yuffie’s Yuffie. She’s quite special.”

Reno couldn’t stop the snort of disbelief in response. Without asking for permission, he walked closer and unpinned the postcard closest to his reach and flipped it around. His eyes scanned the words quickly, not caring whether he was intruding on Reeve’s privacy—the familiar messy scrawl sent a sharp pang of envy.

There were only a few words written on it and she had terrible handwriting for someone who most likely took hours upon hours of calligraphy class.

_Sorry that I’m still skirting my responsibilities. But ya know me._

_Love, Yuffie._

_P.S. I totes don’t miss the way you nag me!_

The cartoonish face of Yuffie blowing a kiss made him want to rip the postcard to shreds. Instead, he tacked it back onto the cork board, perhaps a little forcefully. Deliberately, he ignored the curious raise of Reeve’s questioning eyebrow and asked his own question instead. 

“Why’d the brat leave?”

Reeve looked hesitant to respond for a few moments before breathing deeply, seemingly willing to humour him. “Honestly? I don’t think I’ll ever understand her. But if I had to guess, probably just running away from her responsibilities.” He turned around and walked back towards his desk and Reno watched as he stared out the window. “I can’t imagine being twenty-five and expected to run a country. Hell, I’m double her age and _I’m_ not ready to ever be in her position.”

“You think that’s all?”

“I think,” Reeve murmured with a small sigh before continuing, “that Yuffie is secretly very lonely deep down, though her pride would never show that side of her.” And then he turned around to stare inquisitively at Reno. “Why do you ask, Reno?”

Before Reeve could study his face further, Reno turned around and walked out of the office without another word.

He found himself on the roof of the headquarter just mere minutes later, his fingers wrapped tightly around his phone. With a harsh breath, he swung his legs over the concrete ledge to sit down as he thumbed the screen. The sun beat down on the back of his neck and an unexpected ache settled in his chest.

The feeling was so foreign that he finally decided to swallow his pride and call her.

It went straight to voicemail.

_“Great Ninja Yuffie! Only leave a message if you’ve got something good to share. Or if you’re Godo, then stuff it, old man!”_

Letting out a long suffering sigh, he slipped his phone back into his pocket. 

“Where the _fuck_ are you, brat?”

* * *

The next postcard didn’t come for another two weeks.

He had returned home from work with a plan to enjoy his evening alone with his new bottle of whiskey and the tv show that Elena had been trying to get him to watch. Except the urge to check his mailbox had been irresistible and at the top of his pile of mail sat a postcard with an image of hot springs—Mideel.

Unthinkingly, his fingers flipped over the card and studied the back eagerly, hoping for any clues to indicate where she would be going next. Her chicken-scratch handwriting of his address was barely legible, but the doodle on the back was clearly a whale. Or was it a fish? Or was it a _really_ shitty drawing of Leviathan?

As much as he was tempted to call her to tell her that her drawings sucked, he doubted it would be the best way to get her to come home—to him. Knowing her, she probably wouldn’t pick up his call anyway—it would go straight to voicemail.

His knuckles were white from the strain as he forced his hand to relax before slipping the card into his jacket pocket, a curse escaping his lips.

He couldn’t believe what he was even _considering._

Within minutes, he found himself on a stool at the familiar bar instead of his couch with a glass of whiskey in his hand nonetheless. There was an intense ache within his chest as he studied the amount of vivid postcards pinned to the corkboard.

“I’m surprised to see you here,” Tifa commented with a raise of the eyebrow as her hands dried the glasses before she placed them back on the shelves.

“Why?” he muttered, his voice gruff. “I’m a regular ‘round here.”

“Because,” she said with a hint of a smile. “Rude’s not off for another three hours and Yuffie’s been gone for a while. A little birdie told me you don’t usually like drinking by your lonesome self.”

Reno scowled. “Where’s the dipshit anyway?”

The flash of worry and concern in her eyes and the slight downturn of her mouth made him pause. “I don’t know,” she said softly after a moment as her gaze drifted towards the corkboard. “Somewhere on the Eastern continent, if I had to guess.”

His fingers tapped restlessly against his glass and before he could think better of it, he blurted out the question that was on the tip of his tongue. “You guys ever see a whale when you were gallivantin’ ‘round the world?”

Her brows scrunched up in confusion almost as if to try to make sense of _why_ he was asking her about a whale—he had never been interested in those months of their lives. If he had to be honest with himself, those months where they had been at each other’s throats were months he would have been happy to wipe away from his own memory—from existence.

Too many fuck ups and too many things he wished he had done differently.

“No…” she murmured with uncertainty before a gentle smile crossed her face. “We met a dolphin though. Does that count?”

“Where?” The word escaped before he could take it back.

“Why?” she asked with a trace of protectiveness in her tone as her eyes hardened and her lips thinned.

He knew he had to tread carefully if he wanted any information. Despite the fact that they had been slowly building up the trust between them the last few years, he knew that it could shatter at any time _especially_ if Yuffie was involved—she was the baby of the family and they were ridiculously overprotective of her despite the fact that she could hold her own.

Clearing his throat, his gaze drifted towards the postcards and he felt his lips twist. “No reason,” he lied, inwardly cringing at the unconvincingly shitty response.

Her wine-red eyes studied his face carefully for a few moments almost as if debating whether he was trustworthy or not. Finally, she let out a small sigh as look at her hands before her gaze met his again. “I had a feeling she was running from someone,” she said with a small nod, almost as if to reassure herself that it was okay to tell him. Biting her lips, her hands clenched into fists before her eyes flashed dangerously. “Was she running to avoid you?”

His jaws tightened involuntarily because as much as he wanted to answer her question, he wasn’t sure of the answer either. He didn’t know _why_ she left. “What’d she tell you?”

“Nothing,” she said, the expression on her face softening just slightly. “But her silence is a giveaway. If I tell you,” she murmured with just a hint of uncertainty, “will you promise not to hurt her?”

“Fuck, Lockhart,” he cursed, his fingers running through his fiery mane. “Ya know I can’t promise that.”

Her hands relaxed from its position as she picked up a glass from the pile and continued to dry with the towel. “I don’t know what’s going on, Reno,” she said, her voice deceivingly light—the way her knuckles turned white as she gripped onto the glass spoke a different story, however. “But if you hurt her, I’m going to kick your ass so hard that not even Rude will be able to help you out,” she threatened as she lowered her voice.

As much as he wanted to retort that he wouldn’t go down easy, something told him to shut up—he gave a brief nod instead.

“Junon,” she said with just a hint of hesitation in her tone. “We met Mr. Dolphin in Junon.”

Reno checked his watch and mentally calculated how long the trip to Junon would take—he’d be able to make it there before midnight if he left now. 

But did he _really_ want to go chasing after her? She was the one who left without a word.

His hand clenched around the glass, wavering for a fraction of a second before making up his mind. Sliding the full glass of whiskey back towards the barmaid, he stood up from his spot at the stool and gave her a two-fingered salute before skulking off.

Tifa’s hushed question that cut through the cacophony of voices in the bar made him pause in his steps.

“You’ll bring her back home?”

He let out a long breath. “I’ll try.”

His fingers grabbed onto his phone as he stepped out of the bar, his feet leading him towards the place he had left a mere hour ago. He’d just have to let Tseng know that he needed to take the helicopter for a day—he had an important personal issue that needed to be dealt with instantly.

What were they going to do anyway? Fire him?

* * *

Hoping that she hadn’t decided to camp in a bedroll somewhere on the outskirts of Junon, he had called a handful of motels and inns during the helicopter ride—he had been lucky to find that someone matching her description had checked in the morning before. His nerves felt frayed and he couldn’t stop his fingers from tapping nervously against the steering or the sole of his feet from clacking against the floor as the thudding of the helicopter blades slowed to a halt. 

His lanky legs carried him through the city and he didn’t even realize he had arrived until he stood right at the front entrance of a crummy looking inn.

The innkeeper was sitting in a chair by the counter, his head tilted backwards, his eyes shut—loud snores could be heard from his mouth that was hanging wide open. The way he sucked in air was so loud that it drowned out the sounds of the television playing nearby.

“Yo.”

The man stopped snoring for a brief moment before shifting positions and began breathing heavily again. Reno felt his eyes roll to the back of his head as he sighed in exasperation. Then he leaned over the counter to nab the logbook, his gaze skimming over the page quickly before landing on the name of Emma Beech. His lips twisted up in amusement as he checked the room number.

As he drew closer to the room, he glanced at his wristwatch to check the time—it was five minutes until midnight. His fingers grazed his lockpicking kit in his blazer pocket before he changed his mind. And while part of him was tempted to pick the lock, another part of him warned him against it. He wasn’t sure he was quiet enough to not alert Yuffie and the last thing he wanted was a throwing knife to his throat—or perhaps worse, her to run away.

Again.

A shuffling noise could be heard within the suite and before he could make his move, a yelp could be heard—a hushed curse in her familiar voice followed.

At least he was sure he hadn’t gotten the wrong room number.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked before placing his hands in his pocket, his body slouched.

“Shit!” she swore before grumbling. “I’m comin’, I’m comin’. If this is ‘bout me kicking the other guy’s ass, then it was totally his fault cause he was being a total creep and—”

The door slammed open.

Hearing the voice he hadn’t heard in months suddenly made him realize just how much he had missed the boisterous lunacy. She was standing there with her hands on her hips, a dark scowl on her face as her eyes flared angrily—he noted distractedly that she was in _his_ oversized t-shirt with those tiny things that could barely be considered shorts.

Her hazel eyes widened imperceptibly in surprise, a tint of confusion in her gaze. And before he could say anything, she schooled her features carefully back into a frown as she crossed her arms in front of her and began tapping her feet noisily.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked acidly.

“I’m a bitch?” he questioned, not irritated by her attitude—not yet anyway. “Couldn’t ya have thought of a better—”

 _“Emma Beech,”_ she corrected, her lips pressed thin. And yet, he detected just the smallest amount of a twitch on her lips, almost as if she was _amused._ Her fingers were digging into her arms, the skin pink underneath her touch. “I won’t ask again, Reno. Why’re you here?”

What the fuck _was_ he doing here? Why was he here? He had planned to fly out to do what exactly?

Instead, he gave a languid, careless shrug. “Fuck if I know.”

The mild amusement vanished from her face and to his bewilderment, she looked unusually calm if not for the quick flash of anger and hurt that flitted across her face. It reminded him of the night she threw herself off the balcony, the night she disappeared and he realized with sudden clarity that she was about to run away again like the _coward_ that she was.

Who the fuck did she think she was? She wasn’t allowed to leave, at least not until it was on _his_ terms.

“Go away,” she muttered flippantly before trying to slam the door in his face.

Bracing himself, he took a step forward to block the door, the door hitting his arm with a loud thud. Instead of taking a step back, she stared up at him defiantly with her jaws clenched and arms crossed as her feet tapped the floor impatiently—the best thing was, he knew it bothered her that his figure towered over her.

“Nah.” He took another step forward.

They weren’t touching but with the way their bodies were so close together, they might as well have been. Daringly, he moved closer and felt a vicious stab of petty satisfaction at the way her lips twisted into a scowl as she took a step back resentfully. With a smug smirk, he took the opportunity to close the door behind him before locking it with an audible click.

He couldn’t help his brow from arching mockingly at the glare she shot him. Whatever calmness she had tried to exude earlier had now evaporated.

“What the _hell_ do you mean by ‘no’?” she practically snarled the words at him. “You do _not_ get to fricken just _walk in here_ and pretend you own the goddamn place, you _asshole.”_

“Yea?” he asked, the corners of his lips twitching. “Looks like that’s what I just fuckin’—”

He could tell it took all of her willpower to not spring forward to kick his ass. “You can’t just _show up_ and—”

“For fuck’s sake, brat—” He ran his hair through his hair as he wondered why he even bothered coming all the way here just to have a screaming match.

“No!” she cursed as she took a step back, arms flailing in frustration before she wiped the back of her hands furiously across her eyes. “You can’t just come and just—”

He froze.

Because in all the times they had argued, she had never _cried._ It was a familiar path that they had travelled constantly—he would do something to piss her off or she would do something dumb that would rile him up and they would fight and yell and scream and then have angry make-up sex.

Except seeing the streaks of tears across her face and the lines of fatigue under her eyes made his stomach clench uncomfortably—he had been the one to do this.

Her shoulders drooped and the unexpected look of defeat in her eyes felt like a bullet in the chest.

“I’m tired of fighting, Reno,” she finally mustered, her voice soft, much quieter than what he was used to. “I don’t wanna do this anymore.”

Despite the months of her being away, it wasn’t until that very moment that the awareness that he could lose her—that she was ready to walk away from him—hit him like a punch in the gut. And while his impulse was to lash out, he stopped himself from responding with his usual biting sarcasm.

“Look,” Yuffie said, her dark gaze meeting his, the hint of tears behind the brightness of her eyes tugging uneasily at him as he tried to fight off whatever he was feeling. “You don’t even know why you’re here.” She let out a soft sigh before biting her lips, the corners of her lips quirked in a pained smile. “It was fun while it lasted, ‘kay? But just leave me alone.”

She drew herself up a little straighter, almost as if readying herself for a confrontation—the realization of what she was doing subconsciously almost caused him to stagger.

“Why?” he managed.

It clearly wasn’t what she was expecting because her eyebrows rose in surprise. But the question had clearly rubbed her the wrong way because she instantly went on the defense. _“Gawd,_ Turkey,” she hissed out, annoyed. “I asked you to leave me the hell alone, how hard is it for you to follow the goddamn—”

“Just tell me why—”

She threw her hands in the air, growling in frustration. “Because it’s _always_ the same! You _never_ fricken listen to me and then I get all pissed off and you don’t give a shit and I run away and—”

“Then stop fuckin’ runnin’,” he interrupted flatly, annoyed at being constantly interfered. 

The glare she shot him would have scared a lesser man. “That is _not_ the point, _you ass—”_

“What is then?”

“I _can’t!”_ she shrieked with infuriation. “I just…” she trailed off before her fingers clenched together lightly and for a moment, he thought she really was going to punch the daylights out of him. _“This,”_ she muttered bitterly, _“this_ is exactly why—”

“Whaddya—”

“We’re fighting!” she screamed, her shrill voice ringing through the tiny suite. _“Again!”_

“So?” He had to admit that he had missed seeing the way her eyes were set ablaze whenever they fought.

 _“Holy shit, Turkey,”_ she bit out, her hands grabbing the lapels of his suit roughly and he gritted his teeth as she pulled his face down to hers. “Do you even _hear_ me?”

“Yeah? Well all I’ve been doin’ is askin’ questions—”

_“Fuck you.”_

He couldn’t stop the irritated scoff from escaping. “Well,” he said with a hint of dry humour in his voice, “the make-up sex _is_ pretty good.”

Her hands let go and she took a step back, the look of anger on her face overshadowing just the merest trace of hurt. “We’re going nowhere. I’m _done.”_

“Yuffie—” He began to take a step forward.

She held up her hand. “Stop—”

And for the first time, he mustered up his courage and swallowed his pride. “I mighta missed ya,” he said casually, his fists clenched deep in his pockets.

Whatever she had planned on saying died in her throat. Her eyes were wide open as her jaw dropped, the rest of her body almost motionless. And then she blinked several times in confusion before she asked, “Are you dying?”

His eyebrows drew together. “What the _fuck_ is wrong with—”

The sudden loud cackles that escaped her lips eased the tension and whatever words he had spoken had broken the hostility between them—it was _only_ Yuffie who could constantly cause him to have mental whiplashes. And then her eyes flittered over his face, _searching_ —for what, he didn’t know. He felt his lips lift upwards in amusement and seeing the look of concentration on her face made him think of the way she would look when she was trying to make any edible meal that wasn't a cup of instant noodles.

Before he knew it, she had bounced towards him and hooked her arms around his neck, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. It was only his quick reflexes that saved him from toppling over as he readjusted his footing, his hands grabbing onto her thighs to hold up her weight—her head tilted so that it was hidden against his neck and he could feel her lips and warm breath at the base of his throat.

He buried his nose in her soft dark strands and breathed in the familiar scent of her shampoo and realized just how much he had missed this—missed _her._

"I missed you too, Turkey," she finally murmured as she pulled away from him slightly, looking into his eyes. The dim lighting of the room made her big brown eyes look warmer, softer. The happiness was palpable in the impish tilt of her grin, in the glow in her eyes, in the pinkish hue of her cheekbones.

Cheekily, she held his face in her hands before pressing her mouth against his. He groaned as her tongue darted across his lips before she nipped him lightly and he felt the tightening of his pants—she giggled. The wooden floor creaked as he stepped closer to the bed before throwing her down, her loud, rambunctious laughter filling the silence of the space.

His heart swelled as the sight of her—she drove him up the wall but he’d never tire of her.

He kicked his shoes off before joining her on the lumpy mattress, the sheets scratchy against his skin. “Don’t run away again, dipshit.”

Her gaze met his, her eyes _dancing._ “Or what?” she asked playfully.

“I’ll just hafta hunt you down again.”

She pulled his face down to hers before brushing her mouth against his cheeks and he felt her lips curl into her usual, impish grin. “But isn’t the chase half the fun?”

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know what the heck it is, but I’ve been having massive writer’s block on my other Reffie fics and it took me forever to finish this one. In the meantime, I’ll be updating drabbles to tide me over until my longer multi-chaptered fics are completed and ready for upload. Thanks for sticking around!
> 
> As usual, comments and kudos are very much appreciated!


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